I find myself
purged of reason
When you enter.
You take such quick
Unknowing charge of me
that thoughts of yours
Accuse themselves of
being mine.
You compass ages
in a leap.
My slowly normal absences
are drawn as if by alpine rope
Up slopes you climb.
Jab your deeply clawed stick
Fast into each crevice,
for should I fall
From such a height,
the world would shatter
My diamond-hardness.
In the valley below
The bits would glitter
for generations, but
Were you to slip
the world would break
Beneath your crash
leaving jewel-noted lines
Uncreated
and unsung.
This piece appeared in the Spring 1949 issue of the student magazine Dimensions.